


Feral Gray Son

by danvssomethingorother



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce loves his new son, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Former Talon Dick Grayson, Gen, Hurt Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne, Romani Dick Grayson, Self Harm, heavy child abuse and neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29684730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danvssomethingorother/pseuds/danvssomethingorother
Summary: Bruce was lost…lost in the endless maze and slowly dying until a little Talon saved him from the court’s fate.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 58
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

Bruce had been trained to survive situations just like this. He had been prepared for every situation, had even prepared specifically for the court to strike him, but none of that had saved him from the whispers of madness at the cusp of each thought. It didn’t save him from being ultimately human and having human weaknesses. He struck against a brick wall and heard the whispers again asking him if he was giving up. He pounded his fist against the wall and refused.

He felt a small hand curl around his larger one, he nearly struck the child, but stopped staring into large eyes, the large eyes of an owl. The grip tightened on his shaking hand and he tugged Bruce lightly, asking permission it seemed.

Bruce touched the sickly skin and ran his finger across a large blue vein that ran down the boy’s throat. Was this death come to take him away?

.

.

.

Bruce woke to warmth, he felt layers of thick quilts pilled on top of him and a low pain pounding in his head. It had to be a hangover. The sudden jerk of nausea making him bolt up and tumble over himself before vomiting on the floor had to be the result of a night of too much to drink. He felt a hand on his shoulder and groaned loudly, Alfred. His guardian angel come to save him from this hell. He clenched his eyes shut as he gagged a moment on his own bile and shivered at the icy touch against his burning flesh. When had Alfred ever been so cold?

He slowly opened his eyes and knew he wasn’t home immediately, and it wasn’t Alfred tentatively holding a glass for him. There was a small flicker of light beside him that his drug addled and sick couldn’t determine if it was natural or not. He took a deep breath and attempted to focus.

He allowed the stranger to assist him in drinking from the unsanitary looking mug. He focused his gaze on it and had to raise an eyebrow at it. ‘Punch me because I’m a Jeff’ it read in fading font, there was a chip on the top of the strange mug and the hand that held it for him was corpse like. Yellowing fingernails and light brown flesh with a grey undertone and bright blue veins that popped around it. The arm attached to the hand was just as fragile and thin, Bruce had to wonder if this boy was human and if he was, he must be ill. He was hunched besides Bruce staring at him with large yellow eyes, if Bruce had to give a description to the expression it was somewhere between fear and curiosity. He was tilting his head in an almost cute childish way making his stringy long black hair tumble over his thin shoulder. His clothing was more rags than anything, a bright green and baggy shirt that read ‘Kiss me! I’m Irish!’ and large green sweatpants that were only staying on his frail form by some miracle. Bruce felt a strong pity seeing the child had no shoes or even socks to block him from the cold.

“You can have some of your blankets back if you need them,” Bruce offered holding one of the ratty quilts towards the boy who smiled shaking his head.

“You…” he began slowly his voice low and raspy but so young, “Sick. Keep cold off.”

“How did you find me?” he watched the boy nervously gnaw at his lip and scratch at his sickly skin.

“Knew Cobb had victim,” he whispered nervously glancing around them and Bruce took a moment to do the same. They couldn’t be out of the woods yet; the boy had saved him from death in the labyrinth not the talons. It was only a matter of time before they caught up to them.

“Safe now,” he attempted fumbling for words and the frustration was clear on his face, he was almost pouting, taking the mug from Bruce and getting up slowly. He crept across the room and pressed his ear against the wall or maybe it was a door. Bruce frowned, where were they? 

“Home,” the boy offered but even he seemed dubious of that fact. He moved from the small flicker of light and disappeared into the dark. 

He heard water running somewhere to his left and frowned, where were they? They had to be underground still due to the lack of natural light but where and were they actually safe?

Bruce heard the boy fumbling with something and in an instant, it was no longer dark. Bruce glanced up at the lantern hanging on the wall and brightening up the room. They were in a small concrete room with piles of junk stacked neatly behind them, Bruce had what appeared to be a cot. It was like living in a store room if Bruce could describe it as anything, the flashlight rested on the box by Bruce’s bed was shut off by the boy. He glanced around finding a large metal sink rusting around the edges, he tried not to think about how sanitary that water they had been drinking was.

The boy cleared his throat and seemed to hum as Bruce stared at him, unsure whether he should demand answers or not. He wasn’t entirely sure he would like a single answer though. How a boy found him in the court’s labyrinth, why he was alone and why he looked like someone attempted to embalm a living body?

“Bunker,” the boy attempted to answer getting up and grabbing a small book from one of the boxes around the room handing it to Bruce. It was a leather-bound journal, he opened it and frowned at the name and date. Doctor Henry Mathews, he couldn’t recall the name and the date immediately told him why he didn’t; Journal start: February 20, 1922. Flipping through the pages he found the answers in a journal of madness speaking of doomsday and a fear of death by the doctor. He created this fall out shelter under Gotham directly under his home in North Gotham. The homes had been torn down in that district and turned into skyscrapers in the 1950s, the only way in or out now was in the entrance he had mapped leading out of the sewer. That would explain how the boy got here, he supposed.

He got up again and walked out of Bruce’s direct line of sight, going through a thin hallway and in moments came back with an armful of cans. He dropped them on Bruce’s lap to allow him to choose he supposed before rushing to the boxes and returning moments later with a pack of plastic forks (slightly water damaged but unopened) and a rusted can opener. Bruce stared at the cans and chose the canned spaghetti not wanting to offend the kid with his picky eating habits from a life of wealth. The boy wasted no time in opening it for him but didn’t take anything for himself.

“You should eat too.”

The boy thought about it a moment and nodded picking up a can of pears, opening it and not wasting much time digging into it. Bruce tried to tempt him into more food not liking how thin he was but the boy shook his head, pushing more cans towards Bruce.

“Need strength,” he attempted to explain gesturing to Bruce’s much larger form and Bruce chuckled despite himself and did as he was told.

“Do you have a name, chum?”

The boy frowned and hummed to himself before slowly going to the boxes behind them once more, he pulled out a tightly rolled piece of paper and handed it to Bruce. Bruce unrolled the ripped-up news article, he was gentle as he could be, the paper was just as fragile as the child himself. It had been water damaged like most things in the bunker and some words were bled together making them unreadable. The image on the front page was not, it showed who this boy was before whatever had been done to him had happened, a smiling healthy boy who just barely resembled the corpse before him. Richard Grayson, key witness in the Grayson murders, missing. The date was five years ago yet the boy in front of him didn’t look aged with years, he still looked like a small child. A child who had been murdered years ago and embalmed to remain the same despite the decay that had set in.

When Bruce looked up, he saw the boy holding another paper dated for this year and far less damaged then the other.

“You,” the boy whispered pointing at the image of Bruce himself bellow the headline. ‘Bruce Wayne missing’.

“How did you know the court had me?”

The boy smiled and shook his head.

“Cobb always leaves his mark with his victims,” his spindly finger was pointing to the bottom paragraph.

‘Police have no leads besides an ornate throwing knife with an owl emblem with blood on the blade that matches Mr. Wayne’s.’

“Couldn’t let another die,” he whispered pulling his knees close to him and giving Bruce a smile just as dead as the rest of him.

“Rest, I will clean up.”

Bruce just laid there listening to the boy cleaning up his earlier vomit and for once in his life did as he was told. He needed to regain his strength if he wanted to chance protecting himself and his new companion for tomorrow’s fight.


	2. Chapter 2

“I am so sorry, tati loves you and will always love you, but the owls keep us safe…you must keep us safe as a Talon.”

The voice cracked in the darkness before fading to shattered glass and a feral scream.

“He is mine! The court shall not have him! If you will not see sense Jon, we are gone!”

He was drowning in the whirlpool of whispered commands. Kill, kill, kill. He felt the knife gripped in his hand, the blood soaking from between his fingers. 

“You will not be an owl,” he felt her grip tighten on him, “You are my blood as much as his. They can not change you. You will always be mine, my Robin.”

.

.

.

“Dya...” he whispered brokenly, opening his eyes and staring at the piles of boxes. He wanted her, he wanted her to come back, he tightened his arms tightly around his midsection and glanced down at his bright clothing.

He concentrated on the color, it made him feel less empty. He tilted his head and ran his fingers across the fabric, if he pretended hard enough, he could pretend he was in the grass with her and they would gather flowers soon. It was spring and it was always worth celebrating. 

He shook his head, he had work to do, no time to think of things he couldn’t change. The Wayne was sleeping, he crept over to him and took a quick glance at him. He must be remarkably resilient to come back to himself without any side effects, the last person Dick had drug from the labyrinth had hallucinated for days before being coherent enough to talk to him. Wayne had come back after only a few hours being away from the toxins. He poked him and quickly yanked his hand away as Wayne grumbled in his sleep calling him ‘Alfred’ again. He waited for him to wake but he didn’t, rolling over and going back to sleep. 

He nearly toppled over on himself as he rose too quickly, he grit his teeth. His legs felt like pins and needles were jammed in and each step was digging them in deeper. He leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath, it was the normal sensation from lack of movement. He forced each finger to unstiffen and stretch out.

“Alright there, Chum?”

Dick jumped at the voice, eyes moving frantically before landing on Wayne. He brought him here, not enemy, victim who needed protection. I am not a talon, he told himself firmly as that familiar voice whispered to him to kill. That’s what the court wanted. They wanted Wayne dead, dead, he wouldn’t need to suffer. Strike the right artery and he would be gone in an instant, a flicker of light, no need to hide. Talons kill. Good boys didn’t get shoved in the coffins, good boys got to exist in warmth, and he could be good. He could listen to his Talon instinct.

He smelt iron and a strong grip forcing his teeth from flesh, his own flesh. He blinked staring at Wayne who was frozen (like a rabbit caught in an owl’s talons, helpless). Dick shook his head again, allowing Wayne to keep his strong hold while he took control once more. He shook his head again before trying to speak. Speaking was so hard.

“Instincts…” he tried to explain shaking his head again, “Going in labyrinth is hard. Makes voices loud.”

“The drugs affected you too?” Wayne was soft leading Dick to the cot and sitting him down with him, wrapping a blanket around his shoulder.

“Arva,” he frowned that was her tongue, Wayne didn’t know their language, but words were becoming jumbled.

“Not like you,” he tried forcing himself to only think of the colorful books he and Dya (mom, she is mom in his tongue) used to pour over. English was the best language for a showman to know especially since Pop set his sights on being an American circus. 

“It brings out talon instincts again,” he shook his head as it began to go stiff and cringing at the pins stabbing again, “Kill. Murder.”

“I ignore,” he tried to assure Wayne with a smile putting his hand on his, “I am not human but not talon.”

He hummed in that comforting way he always did; it was like a lazy breeze on late summer days for him. It was just something that made sense to him and he didn’t expect Wayne to get the same feeling. He hummed as he walked on tipped toes like walking across a tight rope, he slid through the hall and into the larger room pilled with shelves, boxes and a staircase that lead to a steal trap that would never open. He had tried to clean it up some when he first moved into the bunker but it was overwhelming, the doctors lab equipment and personal possessions and supplies had just been thrown everywhere like an explosion had gone off in here. Maybe it had. 

He stared at the strange ash across the far-left wall and the strange human silhouette there. He tilted his head at it. What a strange way to go. Dick had piled cans on the large counter in the middle of the room, it was covered in that same strange ash, the melted beakers seemed to have congealed with the steal counter and no matter how hard Dick yanked on them, they wouldn’t come off the counter.

He moved towards the back of the room to where he began to store things that had become important to him personally. A connection to humanity he couldn’t lose. He had taped a fading cereal box with a large picture of Superman to the back wall, he ran his fingers over him, he thought of him every time the instincts kicked in. If dya and her comforting words couldn’t reach his mind, the promise that someone not human like him didn’t need to kill brought him calm. Maybe some would call his strange shrine ‘garbage’ but the various cans, news paper clippings and thrown out merchandise of the man of steel he found on his nightly searches brought him calm. He glanced passed that and looked down at his friend, a ratty elephant doll he had tightly wrapped with bandages to keep the stuffing in. He picked him up and held him tight a moment. The faint whispers asking him to kill were there still.

“You are a fan of superman,” he didn’t open his eyes yet at Wayne’s voice. He rested his cheek against his friend to keep his fingers from digging into his flesh again to properly sway the voices that desired bloodshed.

“He is not human,” he tried to explain how much it meant to him someone else not human didn’t need to kill. Didn’t need to kill, didn’t need blood, wasn’t hated and shut away. He didn’t know if he could explain it. Words were difficult. 

“Chum, do you think you aren’t human?”

He glanced behind him, frowning at the way Wayne bent down beside him as it was Dick who was the one in danger. He hummed, tightening his hold on his friend.

“Humans bleed and die,” he tried scrunching his face trying to find words trying to remember what it meant to explain, “Talons bleed and die and rise. Humans die and stop feeling pain, talons know pain. Only pain.”

He remembered blood dripping from his fingers, he felt the rush and excitement of the chase, he knew coming to his senses enough to feel regret, to feel pain.

“Talons hurt humans. Talons hurt talons. Talons are only pain.” 

He stiffened but didn’t pull away as Wayne rested his hand on his head. He titled it and hummed in satisfaction as Wayne pulled his hair back, gently pulling out tangles with his fingers. He appreciated the gentle tugs and the light scratch of nails in his hair. It was warm. That wasn’t the right way to describe it, Dick didn’t understand how to properly explain himself anymore.

“I think you are wrong and if you’ll let me, I would like to show you how human you are. More human than anyone in this city.”

Dick hummed clinging to his friend and turning to face Wayne.

“Will you stay with me, Wayne?”

He pondered what it would be like to have someone here to help him gather supplies, someone here to sleep next to and cling to when his instincts kicked in.

“No, chum,” he laughed softly pulling Dick close to him and resting his head on his. Dick remembered Dya doing this, he leaned into it, maybe Wayne could be Dya now.

“You are very ill and I would like to take care of you, if you will let me.”

Dick smiled and looked up at Wayne with large eyes.

“Talons do not need to be taken care of,” he stated making Wayne frown at him, but he didn’t pull him away, “I shall show you how to leave soon.”

“And you will come with me?”

Dick didn’t understand Wayne’s instance but smiled at him anyway. He grabbed Wayne’s hand and pulled him to the cans, he needed to get healthy again before they began their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Researching Romani language is very hard because it is a spoken and not written language and there is differences based on where the Romani person lives, so I am sorry about any mistakes. I tried my best. I always make his dad Romanian and usually make his mom Romani. So I can just kinda blend the cultures so its not too cringey.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tend to write short chapters but I think the more I go on, the longer my chapters for all my fics get (that's why it is taking a hot minute to update my other stuff). I hope no one minds shorter chapters!

1..2…3…4…5 …

Bruce was beginning to sweat despite just starting his work out, he had never felt so out of shape in his entire life. The exhaustion was bone deep and his joints burned. He swapped from his jumping squats to push ups and felt a strange vertigo, the faint ring of the Joker’s laughter reminding him the drugs hadn’t all left his system.

“The gas in labyrinth will stay in your system for days,” he paused glancing over to his companion who was squatted on the floor, nearly on the tips of his toes the more his back straightened as he watched Bruce. Bruce tried not to think of his strange mannerisms too much, the kid not only had the same hallucinates in him but who knows what other toxins.

“You are good at fighting it.”

Bruce smiled at that; he had taken enough toxins in his life to know the right techniques to think through them. The court’s gases weren’t anything more than pumped-up fear gas.

“You aren’t too bad at fighting it yourself, chum.”

The boy hummed loudly; a broken melody Bruce noticed he did a lot. At times the humming sounded like familiar songs but other times it was just like a bird screeching in pain. He grit his teeth, he would make the court pay for all the pain they put this child through.

“What is chum?”

Bruce chuckled at that, he had been calling him that this entire time and only now did he ask what it even meant.

“It’s an affectionate nickname I only use for my closest friends.” 

He hummed once more, a small melody echoing as he walked across the room and picked up his stuffed elephant who had seen better days. He walked back over to Bruce squatting next to him once more holding the animal.

“Chum,” he stated almost proudly glancing down at the stuffed creature.

Bruce chuckled pausing in his work out and staring at the boy fondly, gently running his fingers through his matted long hair. He was looking forward to cleaning it up when he brought him back with him, he had made his mind up on that. 

“What do you prefer to be called?”

The boy clung tightly to his friend and closed his eyes in thought before answering.

“My dya called me Dick, Cobb called me Talon, humans call me street rat and you call me Chum.”

Bruce stared at him as he began humming, gently rocking before rising and walking to the door, gently pressing himself against it. then after he was satisfied, he skipped back over to Bruce. He did this ever now and then and Bruce had taken to doing the same as well. It was only a matter of time before the court would come.

Bruce had slid the worn newspaper clipping into his pocket earlier and found himself taking it out again. Richard Grayson, his mother called him Dick for short, another small detail to fill in the pieces on what had happened five years ago. He had been an acrobat the same as his parents, the page cut off at the beginning of the details about their death.

Richard was there the night his parents fell to their deaths---

It cut off there and that was all Bruce needed to know for now. The court and this ‘Cobb’ had abducted this child and possibly murdered his parents. Five years have passed, and Dick hadn’t aged, only became ill and thin. No one would mistake this boy for a teenager, and he didn’t appear to be mentally his accurate age either, he was a small child. He needed help and if Batman meant anything to this city, he should be capable of doing so.

“Chum, how many times have you been in the labyrinth?”

He didn’t answer immediately, he fidgeted, rising to the tips of his toes and doing a graceful spin on the tip on his toe and began to pace in thought. Bruce couldn’t help but smile, despite his appearance, he never stopped moving. Fidgeting hands, bouncing in place, a few cartwheels here and there when he thought Bruce was sleeping. He sat his stuffed animal on the cot and tapped his finger against his cheek.

“Training, I lost count and died too many times to keep track of,” he pinched his face in thought fingernails scratching over a large bluish green vein protruding from his neck. Bruce was immediately up, standing close by, standing close enough to grab those frail hands if they attempted to dig into that vein. 

He tilted his head back, large owl eyes staring curiously at Bruce and smiling before walking over to the man and holding his hand. Bruce tightened his hold on the frail hand, he was afraid if he squeezed too hard it would break.

The bite mark had faded into a light bruise an hour after he bit deep enough to expose tissue. It sealed and healed on its own. Bruce recalled one of the talons he had fought previously had just as strange of a healing ability, but Bruce didn’t want to chance anything with this child. Alfred had shot the talon for breaking into the manor and like a horror movie villain, had risen again without injury moments later. He didn’t want to find out where Dick’s limits were here though, not while so far away from the cave and its medical supplies. 

“I healed, fine,” he said almost dismissively swinging their hands in a gentle comforting motion, “I die, and I rise.”

He left out the pain, Bruce suspected it was to make him feel better, but he had an excellent memory and would never forget those words. Talons only know pain and Dick was a talon.

“The reporter,” he sighed looking away, “He did not want my help and left despite my warnings.”

Bruce nodded; he knew exactly who he was speaking of. Charles Winters, he had been the whistleblower for Ace Chemicals and had been documenting the unsafe conditions the workers were forced to go through. Batman had no leads for months why he ended up beheaded in Crime Alley with hallucinates in his system but now it made perfect sense it had been the court’s doing. 

“I do not want anymore to die,” he said slowly letting go of Bruce’s hand and pacing towards the door, leaning against it with the expression of someone who saw more death than he should have.

“The labyrinth is a punishment for those who the Masters’ want to suffer… humans shouldn’t suffer.”

He shook his head and bunched his fists.

“The court doesn’t stop; I can get you out but you have to leave city or you will die too.”

Bruce knelt by the boy and gently ran a finger under his eyes as tears began to form.

“Have you ever heard of Batman?”

Dick frowned, humming and nodding.

“Demon, hunts men like the court,” he said shaking his head.

“He’s like superman,” Bruce corrected him making the boy stare at him in almost wonder, “He does everything in his power to protect Gotham and its citizens. I know him personally and he will keep us both safe from the court if you will put trust in me to go with me to find him.”

Dick thought about it for a moment before sighing and nodding.

“I will put trust in this Batman if you do.”


	4. Chapter 4

Sometimes it was hard to remember before, he had vague memories that were tinted blurry photos and he knew he likely added things that weren’t there. He held onto memories of dya though, she was important. She smelled like flowers from the perfume she made herself (a recipe from her own mother before she had been disowned). She loved birds; she kept a sketch book full of the birds they saw as they travelled. Tati hadn’t been allowed to sleep with them before Cobb came, dya had banished him from the family trailer and often whispered to dick they were leaving. Just one last show to please Tati and they would leave.

The rope had snapped, dya and Tati fell, and Cobb had taken him.

Dick didn’t know how to handle the thoughts; Cobb had taught him if he was too distracted by these things he would lose. He would fall and rise; he couldn’t afford that now. He hummed along with his memories of dya and paced.

“I know that song,” Wayne chuckled making him tilt his head to the man who had been digging through Dick’s boxes. He was trying to put together an old device he claimed he could try to contact his friend Alfred with.

“Are you a Beetles fan, chum?”

Dick frowned at that, he thought of the bugs he often saw and didn’t consider himself a fan. Beetles were bugs and he could only assume the bugs had crawled across his face when he was paralyzed in his coffin were them and no he was far from a fan.

Wayne chuckled at his look and shook his head.

“Before your time, your parents must have been fans.”

He raised an eyebrow at him but didn’t argue, arguing rarely lead anywhere and it was best to let disagreements lie. Wayne began to whistle the tune and he squatted down next to him, closing his eyes he could see Tati stringing together the laundry whistling the same tune.

He was almost disappointed when he opened his eyes and found Wayne there instead of Tati.

“Alfred used to listen to the radio while he cleaned,” Wayne began pausing in his work, “He always called The Beetles garbage, but he left them on. I didn’t understand why but my mother did, she would sing along, and it always tempted him to do the same.”

“Do you miss them?” he asked not liking the sadness in Wayne’s eyes despite the nice story he told. He placed his hand on Wayne’s and Wayne easily squeezed his hand.

“You’ll meet Alfred soon, but I’m afraid I lost my mother a long time ago.”

Dick scooted closer to Wayne and rested his head on his broad shoulder and began to hum the broken tune once more. Wayne didn’t say anything but pulled him close, gently pulling tangles from his hair.

;

Wayne had managed to fix the radio, Dick stared at it in fascination as static buzzed from it. He never would have thought the thing would work; he had happily dug it from the trash on one of his runs but had tossed it aside.

“Music?” Dick asked staring at him pleadingly, he remembered Tati’s radio that was similar in size to the one he dug out and recalled how he turned the dial like Wayne did before settling on music.

“Sorry, chum, you dug out an old military radio,” he began giving Dick an apologetic smile, “It could probably pick up the radio but that’s not what we are using it for. We are using it to contact someone or at least find information from radio waves.”

Dick frowned tilting his head at the back Wayne had left open, wires were hanging loose, and a brief image of ripped intestines flashed. He gnawed at his lip and scratched at his neck, nails biting into flesh. He did that, didn’t he? He stabbed and clawed and tore until they poured out. His instincts slowly dimming as the screaming finally registered and he realized he did something bad. He was evil. Not human.

He blinked feeling Wayne gently pulling his nails away from flesh and felt the lingering pain.

“Are you alright?”

He frowned and shrugged, he didn’t know if he would ever be that, but he wasn’t running on instincts to kill and maim so he must be…

“Fine,” he said with a forced smile, “I am fine.”

Wayne didn’t believe him and that was alright, he often didn’t believe himself.

“Why do you do that to yourself?”

Dick had never really thought of it and didn’t know if he could give an acceptable answer so he simply said nothing.

“Its alright,” Wayne stated gently pulling him into his lap and holding him tight while he messed with his radio, “We’ll figure it out.”

;

Dicks joints were beginning to stiffen from lack of use, but he couldn’t bring himself to move from Wayne’s lap. He felt warm and despite the filthy rag that Wayne’s dress shirt had become, it was comfortable to rest against. He heard Wayne’s heart beating, steady and firm and relaxed into its rhythm.

“Agent A,” Wayne spoke gruffly into the plastic piece attached to the radio by a swirling cord, “Do you hear me?”

“My word sir,” another voice came from the radio making Dick tilt his head in curiosity, “I didn’t expect your voice coming out of my old equipment. I thought if you would be reporting in again it would be over the phone.”

“Afraid I lost that and my transmitter, but I did find an old radio.”

“I suppose I do owe you that hay penny then sir, I never expected much use coming from you learning to contact me through radio.”

Wayne was smiling, Dick rested his head back on his chest and gently stretched out his stiff fingers. Wayne noticing his discomfort cupped his hand and frowned down at him.

“You’re freezing,” he told him gently before shifting to grab one of the blankets and tucking it tightly around him before pulling him close once more.

“Is there someone else with you, sir?”

Dick stared at the radio and wondered what this Alfred would think of him. Humans didn’t tend to enjoy his company and so far, only Wayne had been the exception.

“Yes, a new friend who will be staying with us and needs personal help from Batman.”

There was a pause before the voice broke in once more.

“Very good then sir, when shall I expect you back?”

Wayne gently carded through Dick’s hair making him relax further before pulling the blanket back over him.

“I was hoping for some assistance in getting back, I fear the worst isn’t over from the court and more then Bruce Wayne can handle.”

“You wish for me to send you a ride then sir?”

“That would be appreciated.”

They began discussing coordinates and times, but Dick felt himself nodding off despite himself. He tried to stop it, but the steady heart beats lulled him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you guys liking the pace of this story? I promise it will pick up soon but I like chapters where not a lot happens, so unless you guys hate it, it might be a theme.


	5. Chapter 5

Wayne was packing up what he thought they may need. The first aid kit, a few cans of food, the radio, his large flashlight, and an old push broom he said he could use as a weapon. Dick had offered him a few throwing knives he had stashed away but he declined the offer. Dick clung to his stuffed animal and watched Wayne swirl the broom; sweeping into a few katas Dick recognized. He nodded to himself before breaking the bristled part off with a well-timed strike. Dick’s eyes widened; he had never known one of the court’s targets who seemed like they could match the talons in skill.

“Do you have any shoes?”

Dick shook his head; he had never seen the need to find any. Wayne nodded; Dick wondered what was going on in his head. He looked different. Face determined; the expression of a man who wouldn’t accept failure. He reminded him of Cobb like this.

Wayne moved to the door and pressed his head against it listening for several tense seconds before he nodded towards Dick to follow him. Dick held tight onto his friend following closely behind Wayne. Wayne kept the lantern off at first, beginning their trek through the sewer in silence. His movement was silent despite his large frame and heavy business shoes. Dick pondered how he did that. It was another skill he had only seen Talons do before.

Wayne paused, gently grasping for Dick’s hand. They stood in the dark, feet half submerged in the murky waters, the path Wayne had taken them down was narrow. Dick frowned. They weren’t heading above ground; they were going farther down. Something clattered and Wayne tensed, pulling Dick further behind him and raising his broom handle.

Dick hummed a little before pulling up the lantern attached to Wayne’s belt and switching it on. He giggled seeing two rats shoving a few empty cans. Despite Wayne’s disapproving look, he easily ducked under him and squatted by the creatures. He stuck his hand out and one approached him, nuzzling against him.

“Just chums,” he said titling his head back and smiling at Wayne. Wayne scrunched his nose; he didn’t have the same feelings about the creatures. He gently helped Dick back to his feet once more and pushing him behind him once more taking the lantern. At the end of the tunnel was a rickety ladder and Wayne handed him the lantern as he began the descent down.

Dick stood for a moment, looking behind them making sure they weren’t being followed before tucking his friend in his own bag Wayne had made for him and making his way down the ladder as well. He tensed as Wayne grabbed him and gently lowered him back to the ground.

“Ladder is broken at the bottom,” he explained taking the lantern back and looking around the new path. It was a fork, a large pathway forward, Dick could hear the running water coming from there. Faint light also lined down the larger path. The two other paths were dark and narrow and would only lead them further down.

Wayne chose the left narrow path and Dick followed behind him without a complaint, he could only hope Wayne knew where they were going. He wasn’t leading them towards a nest and that was the only reason Dick hadn’t spoken up. He could put blind faith into walking in circles but not walking into danger. 

“Smells,” Dick whispered as they went further down the path. Wayne chuckled.

“It’s a sewer, chum,” he reminded him, and he gave him a funny look. He hadn’t forgotten that fact, but he didn’t know how to use words to explain it was different. Rotting. Dead. Blood. He knew these smells and didn’t often smell them in during his treks.

Rats scurried between their feet as they walked down the path. Dick paused, tugging on Wayne’s hand forcing him to stop as well. He titled his head at the muck under their feet and squinted. There was a glimmer of steal, he dug out the throwing knife and easily pocketed it.

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer at first ducking around Wayne to get in front of him, he took a few steps forward and pulled Wayne with him, forcing him to raise his lantern. 

There were several dead rats pinned and scattered across the brick wall, Wayne attempted to pull him away, but he ducked away from his hand. He stepped forward and tugged at one of the knives until the poor rat broke free. It twitched as it hit the ground, Dick didn’t pay it mind. It was the gas in its body making it twitch like that, the poor creature wasn’t alive.

He pulled the knife from his pocket and compared it to the one that killed the rat. They both had owls on the handles and the blades had words engraved in them.

“Watch and Traitor,” Wayne grumbled assisting Dick in freeing the other rats from the blades.

“Watch your back Traitor. You and Wayne will fall.”

Dick immediately shut the lantern off, gripping a knife tight in his grasp.

“Watching,” he whispered, “We were never alone.”

Dick grabbed Wayne and forced him to the ground as a knife flew towards his head.

“Hello nephew,” the voice called, “I have missed you.” 

“Never missed you,” Dick mumbled taking quick aim as Wayne raised the lantern as he sloppily rose after Dick had hastily thrown him to the ground. Armor would make any hit useless, he only had one shot. He could hear Cobb’s instructions in his ear, neck is a weak spot. Always hit unruly talons there, make them fall before they do the same to you.

He ran past Wayne, spring rolled around his aunt’s strike and jumped on her back momentarily taking her by surprise as he dug the knife in deep, blood spraying against his face. He felt his instincts hitting him at full force and kept stabbing, tearing away cloth with his fingers and striking the major veins. 

He heard her gurgles and remembered how she had made him sound like that.

Make her suffer, a voice whispered, Don’t be easy on her. Talons only bring pain…

He remembered his aunt slitting his throat when he refused to fight, being impaled with knives for having mercy. She was falling, should he make her suffer? He wouldn’t let them kill Wayne, maybe send a message like he had been taught?

“Dick!” he heard Wayne yell and he stabbed into his own hand to get a grip on his mind once more. He rushed forward letting his aunt drop and grabbing Wayne’s hand, dragging him down the tunnel.

“Hurry, hurry, rise soon,” he panted taking a sharp right turn and hopping into a large tunnel, Wayne following behind him.

“Rise and you die, she knows I fight now, she knows,” he panted. He felt tired. His body always wanted to rest after he lost too much blood, but it healed, he would be fine.

“She won’t play next time because its not the same,” he hissed popping on the other end of the pipe and hissing a little as the sunlight hit him, he was temporarily blinded. He rubbed hard at his eyes, hissing. He fought against Wayne a moment when he scooped him up, shielding him from the light pouring from the open drain.

“Its alright,” Wayne tried to soothe him, but Dick knew it wasn’t alright. 

He couldn’t form words anymore, sputtering and hissing. It hurt. He pressed his head against Wayne’s shoulder to keep his eyes from direct contact with the light. He was lightheaded. He remembered shattered glass, blood and that rotting smell.

He clung tighter to Wayne; he didn’t want to be that. He couldn’t be that.

;

Bruce ran his fingers gently through Dick’s hair as he continued to make those pained sounds even after passing the drainpipe and entering another tunnel, surrounding them in darkness once more. Was he sensitive to natural light because of years being forced underground or was it the chemicals that had destroyed his body and mind?

He appeared asleep now, drained from whatever episode he had been through with his aunt. Aunt…was she family or did the court force that mindset on the boy? His hand was healed, but a nasty long cut remained there for now. It was puffy and bruised but with each step it seemed to be naturally healing on its own. 

He realized he had lost his weapon while somewhere during Dick’s freak out and their rush through the pipes. He kept going, reaching his destination.

He clung tight to Dick as he climbed up the ladder and emerged in an alley. This part of the city had been closed since last month, homes and businesses had been destroyed by Ivy’s plants. It hadn’t yet been deemed safe for citizens to return to this small sub section of the city just yet. Glancing up, Bruce frowned seeing the damage up close once more. Vines still cut through buildings and rubble and debris covering the streets. The batmobile waited for them at the end of the street just as Alfred had promised.

Good.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t the right man for this job, this could only be ended by Batman.

**Author's Note:**

> Idk where this came from, me and my pal have been talking about Talon Dickie a lot and I was reading court of owls and here we are.


End file.
